The Mark of Oxin: A Narrative
by annabethchaserox
Summary: A narrative retelling of the RPG by Phillip Michael Lester.


Chapter One

The castle was worthy of filling any onlooker with awe. It rose so high its turrets blocked out the blaze of the midday sun; its solemn, grey brick exterior stood in sharp contrast with the candy-green grass and gumdrop-coloured flowers growing along the side of the dirt road just outside. The gigantic, gaping doors stood like a lethal dare—a seemingly unprotected entrance to those who overlooked the sharp slices of sunlight glinting off the steel spears and armour of the royal guards; to the extraordinary observer, eyes could be glimpsed in secret windows in the turrets and in large nooks in the weather-worn bricks, always ready to shoot down intruders. The structure almost gave the impression of an adult looking down on a group of children; a figure of power amongst a crowd of naive followers.

Even Alex, well-travelled though he was, could not bring himself to come any closer. He stood in the shadow cast by the edifice, grateful for the escape from the blistering summer heat. Sweat idly slid down his temples and pooled at his collarbones; at the nape of his neck, it dripped down his back and gave the tickling sensation of crawling spiders until he angrily batted the droplets with his hand, and they absorbed into his threadbare cloth armour.

Everything about Alex was thin: his clothes, his blade, his tattered shoes, his bony limbs. To anyone who dared point them out, he would readily admit to these shortcomings with his signature smirk, hands on hips, and snarky remark ready on his tongue.

But the thinnest thing of all, he could not bring himself to think about: his reason for being in this town.

A recent graduate of his local military academy, Alex had been nothing but confidence when he'd packed his backpack with the bare essentials and left his aunt's house in the mountains without looking back. Although many, many people had tried to talk him out of his plans of becoming a private soldier for the king, he'd scoffed and dismissed them all without much thought. As far as he knew, he was the only soldier alive capable of casting magic, so that gave him a special edge for a royal profession. And what was more, going on adventures and fighting in important battles was his childhood dream—was he to abandon that for a practical life of herding goats with his cousins?

The time in his life when doubt had started to seep into his mind was when he started having the dreams. Strange, vivid visions of places he'd never seen before. They'd seemed burned into the back of his eyelids each time he woke up in a cold sweat, hurrying to his sketchbook and stick of charcoal to preserve the memory: a snowcapped mountain, a field of pink and yellow wildflowers, a threadbare rope bridge swinging across a chasm. And, finally, a giant grey-brick castle.

The path to the kingdom's capital.

It was a sign, surely. God wanted him to travel to the capital and become the King's Chosen One, his right hand man. Alex would have riches; he would have fame; people would tell stories of his victories for generations. In retrospect, he'd probably been babbling like a madman after those dreams, and his aunt's concerned tone when she spoke to him had been quite justified.

"Alex, are you sure about this?" she'd asked, fidgeting with the lilac scarf round her neck. "I thought you were going to join the War first, get some military experience, maybe get a higher education at university." she'd given a nervous chuckle then, and the unhappiness of her smile had hammered little cracks in Alex's resolve.

"Auntie, I can't delay it," he'd answered gravely. "I know I'm young, but I have this _feeling!_ " he'd opened his hands emphatically then, like little starbursts with his fingers. Explosions of an idea. "I need to be there now. The time has come for me to prove myself."

So Alex had left his childhood home and trekked the familiar, treacherous path across the mountain range. There was no road to the capital from his village, so he'd relied on accounts from travelling merchants and his dream sketches to slowly make his way there.

He'd seen the snow-capped mountain. He'd smelled the wildflowers. He'd reinforced the bridge with rope he'd pilfered from his uncle and crossed it.

And he stood now, right next to the castle, and he couldn't help but feel that doubt and fear had clawed at his willpower for too long; it felt as worn through as the clothes on his back.

Sliding his sweat-slick hair out of his face, Alex once again braved the glare of the sun as he left the shelter of the castle's shadow and continued down the road. He didn't know where he was going; in fact, he was barely looking up, his travel-weary eyes continually dropping down to his shoes, watching them make crunching steps on the dry earth. He was procrastinating, and he knew it. He should be looking for a royal envoy, or writing a letter to the castle, or trying to think of some other way to meet with the king. But with every step, he convinced himself that he couldn't start if he had so few weapons, such shabby clothes, and absolutely no money to do anything about it.

So enveloped in his self-pity was he that Alex didn't notice the little boy until he literally bumped into him.

" _Oof,"_ went the mousy haired child as he staggered back a step from the impact.

"Oh—I'm sorry," stammered Alex, guilt prickling his skin, but the boy just gave a wide, gap-toothed grin.

"I found this on the ground," the boy explained, holding out in his chubby hand a bulging burlap sack Alex hadn't noticed before. "I want you to have it."

The bag was half the boy's size and was apparently too heavy for him to carry, given the suspicious depression in the ground which continued for several hundred feet and led directly to it. Without thinking, Alex bent down and gripped the top of the bag. The boy immediately let go and sprinted away, laughing.

"Wait—stop!" Alex yelled, preparing to run after him, but the bag really was heavy, and Alex's arms were already shaking from the effort to hold it.

The boy whipped his smiling face around at Alex. "See you soon!" he called, and giggled as he continued to run away, kicking up dirt in his wake.

Red-faced, panting, and a little embarrassed at his inability to run with the extra weight, Alex stopped and held the bag open to peer inside. His jaw dropped even as his cynical mind immediately jumped to doubt the validity of the dozens of gold coins the sunlight illuminated within.

His head whipped to either side of him, brown ponytail flying behind him, as he checked for onlookers. A couple strangers who hadn't paid him any mind before then looked up, curious about his sudden, strange behaviour. Alex mentally reprimanded himself and searched for a place to test the coins in peace.

Repeatedly chanting _act natural_ in his mind, Alex made his way over to a nearby peach tree, where any passersby would think he was just collecting fruit or something. He flopped down in front of the trunk and fished out a coin from the bag, proceeding to inspect it from every possible angle. It was smooth and a bit warm, the edges ribbed, the sides engraved with an official-looking seal. Alex bit down hard on the coin and was astonished at the dents made in the yellow metal.

It really _was_ gold.

As quickly as he could, Alex dumped the contents of the bag onto the grass beside him and began the meticulous process of counting each one. With every coin, giddiness rose up in him like a tidal wave.

Two hundred gold coins.

With a snap like a broken elastic band, Alex leapt up from his spot by the tree and made a beeline for the nearest weapons store, a gigantic smile stretched across his face.

His wonderful momentum was abruptly halted by a girl with a shock of lime-green hair pushed away from her scowling face by a thick red hairband. With his tunnel vision, Alex hadn't even seen her until she grabbed his wrist. Not good soldier practice; his general would be disappointed in him.

"The king needs to talk to you," she declared baldly. The contents of this unceremonious notification dawned on Alex slowly, like sand settling in water. The _king_ wanted to talk to _him?_ Perhaps the monarch was psychic.

"Hmm, I wonder what for?" Alex murmured, more thinking aloud than he was speaking to the girl in front of him. Reprimanding his previously unobservant behaviour, he gave her a second glance, noticing that her dress had the name _Carol_ stitched into it in plain black thread before she turned around and walked away from him. He considered calling after her and demanding more information, or perhaps better closure to their conversation, but he had other things to do. His mind was buzzing from the possibilities and revelations of an already exciting day.

He really should have gone to see the king immediately—it would be rude to ignore a royal request—but he did look quite pathetic in his current state, so he made his way over to the weapons shop first.

"Good day!" greeted the owner with a commercial smile and wave as Alex all but flew in through the front door in his enthusiasm. His jaw dropped as he analysed the walls above his head: shelves lined with battle axes and swords and spears, the blades all gleaming with newness, the handles of soft, pristine leather. Alex had been in his share of weapons shops, given his training as a soldier, but he'd never been in a position to actually afford stuff before. But even as he felt his spirits soar, he knew that two hundred gold wasn't enough to buy him anything on the higher shelves.

With a slightly narrower grin, he focused his attention on the shelves in front of him: row upon row of palm-sized potion bottles, the glass refracting the sunlight and making the purple liquid within seem to sparkle; haphazard piles of bright crimson apples; a few Phoenix downs draped casually over dusty wooden crates, the fiery colours glinting in the light, reincarnation magic emanating from every fibre of feather.

Alex decided to empty his coffers and buy a Phoenix down (which he attempted to fold before balling it up and stuffing it into his backpack) and two bottles of potion. He probably should have heeded his sage General's advice and saved some money in case he came across a better shop later, but he never had been the frugal type.

With neither a regret nor a care in his heart, Alex whistled as he jogged down the dirt road to the castle for his audience with the King.


End file.
